The guard’s crude smile can’t dampen the butterflies that erupt in my stomach. I can’t help glancing around to see who else heard the summons. Most of the others have wandered from the table—including Jason, thank fuck—but Max sits nearby. He stills, clearly listening. He’ll run straight to Jason for sure.
Cas scowls, eyebrows knitting together. “Oh, what does that dickhead want with you this time? You don’t have a match to prepare for!”
“You know you’re ugly when you pull that face, right?”
His hand clamps around my arm. “Seriously, Robin. Don’t go.”
“I know what I’m doing.” The lie tastes bitter. I really, really don’t.
Cas groans, rubs his face.
The guards raise eyebrows at the collar already circling my neck. “Well, that saves us some trouble.”
They pass the chain through, leave my hands free. Earned some trust, apparently. Lovely.
The walk to Marco’s villa passes in a blur of pleasant weather—bright blue sky mocking the storm building in my chest.
Maria opens the door before the guards can even knock.
Something about her face makes me freeze. She’s never been particularly friendly toward me, but now she’s wide-eyed, almost frenzied. Her hands twist in her apron.
“Come this way,” she says, as if there’s an emergency.
The guards remove my chain and wait outside. I follow Maria through the corridors, past the lounge. No sign of him anywhere.
“To the garden,” she explains, almost in a whisper.
Unease crawls up my spine. My stomach clenches. “Is Marco hurt?”
She doesn’t answer, just keeps walking with that strange, tight expression.
I step onto the patio overlooking the lush greenery. Two steps in, I realize Maria isn’t following me. Her footsteps retreat back into the villa.
I walk toward the railing at the top of the stone stairs.
That’s when I see it.
A figure, slight in size, sits on the grass facing away from me toward the flowerbed. They’re hunched over something, entirely focused on what they have in their lap. Blonde hair catches the sunlight—shortish, wavy. The same shade as mine.
I freeze.
No. This isn’t real.
This can’t be happening.
I fall to my knees at the top of the steps. I try to call out, but my voice won’t work. The air has left my lungs completely. I try again, and again, untileventually—
“Esme!”
I haven’t seen her face yet, but I know it’s her. From her hair, from the way she sits with one leg tucked under her, because I know somehow she’s got a bloody sketchbook in that lap of hers just like she always did back home.
But when she turns, when I finally see her face—
The world tilts sideways.
Gray eyes. My gray eyes. Thinner than she was, but alive. Breathing. Real.
She screams.
